


A Heartbeat Away

by ekbelfield



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmate-Identifying Timers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-25
Updated: 2015-11-25
Packaged: 2018-05-03 07:13:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5281607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ekbelfield/pseuds/ekbelfield
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The number of heartbeats before she connected with her soul mate was such a large number, Felicity honed her math skills so she could do the math in her head.</p>
<p>Averaging 70 heartbeats a minute.  1440 minutes a day.  365 days a year.  It wasn’t uncommon for a ten-digit number to be on a young child’s shoulder.  The real estate the number occupied would shrink as the small body grew and the number shortened.  When the number hit zero, a symbol would replace it, a way to guide one’s soul mate home."</p>
<p>A quick Olicity soul mate timer AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Heartbeat Away

**Author's Note:**

> I love soulmate fics. I love soulmate timer fics. There are a finite number of variations on this theme. I hope this is a somewhat fresh take on it.
> 
> I wrote this quick, and then let it sit for a few days because the ending wasn't working. I think this is as good as it's going to get. I've got another fic I'm about three quarters done with, I'm hoping to get the chance to finish it up over the thanksgiving weekend. I hope everyone survives the Arrow-less week this week!
> 
> Enjoy :)

When Felicity Smoak was seven years old, she realized she needed to be good at math. She was riding piggyback on her dad’s shoulders, when she felt warmth underneath his shirt.

“What’s wrong with your shoulder, Daddy?” Felicity asked with innocence only a child possesses.

“Nothing, sweetheart, it’s just my number.” He smiled reassuringly up at her over his shoulder.

He was gone the next day.

Felicity’s own number at that age was astronomical. The number of heartbeats before she connected with her soul mate was such a large number, Felicity honed her math skills so she could do the math in her head.

Averaging 70 heartbeats a minute. 1440 minutes a day. 365 days a year. It wasn’t uncommon for a ten-digit number to be on a young child’s shoulder. The real estate the number occupied would shrink as the small body grew and the number shortened. When the number hit zero, a symbol would replace it, a way to guide one’s soul mate home.

Her mother knew her father’s timer hadn’t run out. Felicity swore never to make the same mistake. She could have her fun, sure, but she knew better than to get serious about someone without seeing their number first.

That all changed when she met Oliver Queen.

*

Oliver Queen didn’t have a number. Children born without a number were considered tragedy cases, lost causes to most. There was no promise of happily ever after for a child without a number. (Felicity could prove there was no promise of happily ever after for a child _with_ a number, either, but that was contrary to conventional wisdom.)

When Oliver was a young man, he took advantage of all the world could offer him, all of the privilege of wealth coupled with the pity for a life doomed to be lived alone made him a connoisseur of life’s not so simple pleasures.

When his father’s yacht went down, and Oliver washed up on Lian Yu, one thing became very clear to Oliver.

_This is why I don’t have a number. I’m going to die on this island._

When he returned to Starling City, weathered but alive, only then did he reflect on the fact that he survived, without the promise of a number to assure his future.

But he couldn’t dwell on it long, because he had a city to save.

*

Felicity checked the number on her shoulder every once in awhile. Her checks grew more frequent as the number grew smaller. Heartbeats weren’t a constant unit of measure, so her math constantly needed to be reworked to adjust for when she’d connect with her soul mate.

Then Oliver Queen showed up in her office with a shot-up laptop and all hell broke loose in her life. With his every visit, his stories got stranger and her numbers got smaller. But she wasn’t checking them anymore, because all of her attention was focused on the mystery that was Oliver.

Obvious lies aside, Oliver was interesting and nice and nothing like the image she knew of tabloid king Oliver Queen.

She was pondering this very mystery, stretching an ache in her shoulder as she got in her car after a long day of work only to find the object of her thoughts bleeding out in her backseat.

She spent the drive to his father’s factory in the glades trying not to panic, barely noticing the growing warmth in her shoulder.

As John Diggle tried to save Oliver’s life, Felicity could no longer ignore the searing heat in her shoulder. Her heart was racing as she shrugged off her blouse, tank top bearing the digits to Diggle, who merely raised an eyebrow at the rapidly falling number before turning back to the task at hand.

Oliver flat-lined as Felicity cried out in pain, fire ripping through her shoulder and pulsing outward matching the pace of her rapid heartbeat. She fought through the pain to fix the wiring on the defibrillator, watching anxiously as Diggle brought Oliver back from the dead.

When the steady beep from the monitor began anew, Felicity sagged in relief at Oliver’s side, hand absently rubbing her shoulder, only a phantom sensation remaining from where her number used to be.

Felicity stared at the monitor for a long time, watching, waiting, until Oliver began to stir. Diggle snapped into motion, checking him over, asking him questions.

“Anywhere else hurt?”

“Yeah, my shoulder.”

Diggle snorted. “You _were_ just shot, you know.”

Oliver glared. “It’s not like that. It’s like a burning, on my skin.” 

Felicity stepped closer as Oliver turned. “Oliver, it’s just your number.”

“Felicity. I don’t have a number.” Felicity wondered how often Oliver had to utter that phrase in his life, and if he ever sounded less haunted saying it than he did just then.

“Oliver. I can see it.” She stepped closer still, close enough to trace a finger over the numbers inked into his skin as Oliver sucked in a breath. “Except. Wait, this is weird, they aren’t counting down.”

“What?” Oliver sounded bewildered, as Diggle found a mirror, handing it to Oliver. Oliver angled the mirror, mouth dropping open in shock at the presence of the number on his shoulder. “I don’t understand.”

“Well I’m good at math. And I can tell you this is a big number. And it’s not counting down. That doesn’t make any sense. Unless…”

“Unless what, Felicity?” Oliver was watching her closely as she traced the numbers again, brow furrowed.

“Oliver, this is binary. It spells out my initials. F. S.” Her voice was breathless as she met his eyes. “My number hit zero when you flat-lined.” She took the mirror and used it to examine her own shoulder, where instead of her number, an arrow had appeared.

Oliver laughed, then, for the first time in years, rust in the tone from unfamiliarity. Felicity looked confused and a little hurt, before Oliver grabbed her hand and twined their fingers together.

“Felicity. My whole life I thought I was cursed because I didn’t have a number. That I was going to die on that island because I didn’t have a number. It’s ironic that I had to die to get a number.”

Felicity smiled at him, albeit weakly, and squeezed his hand. “You have one now.”

Oliver smiled, a genuine expression Felicity hoped to see on his face again, and often. He leaned in close, his breath ghosting across her lips. “It’s not just a number. It’s you.”


End file.
